


beautiful

by nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 11:13:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare/pseuds/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare
Summary: Shion is blind, and Nezumi is his new neighbor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote and posted this fic in January, 2014, and I'll be reposting it one chapter every day (even though clearly it's already completed). 
> 
> I'm reposting some of my old fics from the many accounts I previously deleted over the past few years, so if you're familiar with my fics and want to request that I repost a certain old fave, feel free to message me at my tumblr: http://coolasamackerel.tumblr.com or comment on this post: http://coolasamackerel.tumblr.com/post/160488980276/danielles-nezushifree-fics and I'll be happy to consider reposting it! For both my new readers and my old guys, hope you enjoy the fic!! :D

The dots were nearly flat, not that it mattered anymore. Shion hadn’t paid them any attention for years.

            Still, he supposed he should order a new keypad cover in case he got the urge to type drunk, though it seemed unlikely.

            The typing, not the drunkenness, though Shion was finished with the part of his life that centered on the latter. It had only been for a few months, when he’d forgotten to bail out his ship of self-pity and had no other choice than to wallow it in as it filled up to his knees.

            Shion was not, however, completely irrational, and didn’t allow himself to get in so deep as to risk drowning in the pity. No, once the smell of liquor had become as much a part of his sensory load as the darkness before his eyes, Shion knew it was time to quit. He’d always been rational, logical, and the eight weeks spent with acrid liquid scorching his throat were minor setbacks, breaks of character that he could easily slip out of.

            Well, not easily. But easily enough. It helped that he couldn’t drive himself to the liquor store whenever he got the urge. He’d strictly for requested Rikiga not to listen to his phone calls, and the man obliged, surprisingly enough.

            Maybe not so surprisingly. The man had been infatuated with Shion’s mother for longer than Shion had known him. Rikiga denied it constantly, but for his affections to be so obvious that even Shion could see them was saying something, given the circumstances.

            Shion thought he understood. He’d never known anyone quite like his mother. He knew how much she’d struggled, and though it had become so routine in twenty years, Shion was well aware that his mother still did more for him than most mothers were required to do for their sons.

            Despite this knowledge, Shion wrote of none of his gratefulness in the email he typed to her on dots nearly flat by use. Instead, he merely finished listing Anne’s weekly order, and signed off with love. He usually called his mother with his neighbor’s requests from her bakery every week, but he’d misplaced his phone and knew he’d forget what Anne wanted if he didn’t relay the message soon.

            With the email written, Shion sat back, rubbing his fingers over the keys of his laptop and wondering if he should order a new keypad cover now or wait until the morning. It was one of those mundane decisions that didn’t really matter, but it kept Shion’s mind off other things.

            Well, other _thing._

            Not even a thing, but a man – no, not a man, a voice. Then again, that was all they were – men and women alike. They were all just voices until Shion got close enough to touch them and really meet them. There were a very select few people, therefore, that Shion actually knew as human beings and not voices. For this reason, Shion had developed a distinct ear for voices, and this one, in particular, wouldn’t leave him alone.

            He’d heard it earlier that day for the first time. It was the new tenant, two apartments over from his, across the hall. The last occupants had been newlyweds that were newly divorced only three weeks into their move. Shion could remember their voices clearly, as the walls were rather thin and their arguments rather verbal.

            The new tenant had a deep voice. Low and quiet, almost withdrawn, as if he spoke in inhales rather than exhales. He sounded tall – an illogical statement, one might say, but Shion was well-versed in voices, and knew enough to gauge pretty accurately within five inches. It was a feat he would have been proud of if he’d had anyone to boast to, and any inclination to boast at all.

            The voice had only said three words: _Yes, thank you._ It was the talk of his other neighbors – Anne, in particular – that clued him in to the fact that this new voice was the voice of the new tenant on the floor. Shion had been revising lesson plans for his class the next week – it would be his first full reign over a classroom as a TA at his university – when Anne’s scratchy voice erupted in the hall.

            “And what do we have here?” she’d chorused, her eighty-seven years weighing down with a thick, sandpaper accent. “What a fine young man! And you’ll be the new tenant, won’t you? They said your name was Nezumi – You are Nezumi, right? Well, of course you’re Nezumi, who else would you be? Have you got a young lady of your own? The last young man in that room there did, you see, but they had a falling out, it was too tragic, you see? When young love doesn’t catch, it’s just the saddest thing, I can’t imagine those lovely children all lonely now after making vows to be united until death took them – ”

            Shion was more than willing to tune Anne out. He liked her, but her insistent chatter could go on for hours without break. Shion suspected her old vocal chords had more strength at this point than even her heart, and that on the day her heart stopped beating, she’d still be talking, her lips moving to recite her own lengthy eulogy.

            What Shion couldn’t tune out, however, was the voice still haunting him, the three words of the new tenant, low and quiet and calming, smooth as rain in comparison to the scratch of Anne’s speech.

            _Yes, thank you._

            Shion did not know what Anne had said to warrant this thanks, but he could assume that somewhere after her diatribe, she’d welcomed the new tenant to their building.

            Shion found himself looking up at his door, as if he could see through it, when a much simpler task would have proved impossible for him. There was something about this voice, this inhale of sound that drew Shion forward, and he almost stood up, almost went out into the hallway and almost pretended that he could walk out that door and see the man on the other side –

            But then Anne was talking again, and Shion remembered reality. He was surprised at his daydreams, the kinds of thoughts he hadn’t let himself entertain since he was a kid, and then for those eight weeks when such thoughts were more of booze-induced hallucinations than anything.

            “Oh, don’t you thank me, I’m just doing my duty as your neighbor, you see? Now you holler if you need anything, all right? My name is Anne – oh dear, have I not mentioned so until now? There I go again, forgetting my manners – it’s an old ladies’ privilege, you see? Now then, on your right we’ve got Patrick – he’s a quiet one, you see, doesn’t come out much but we all love him dearly. And on your left there is the vacant room – it’s haunted, you see. Filled with storage now, I’ll have Patrick make you a key, he’s good at that sort of thing, and you can put whatever that you need in there, we all share that room on our floor, and you mustn’t worry for theft because Patrick is too much of a sweetheart do to such a thing and I surely haven’t a need for any more trinkets!”

            Anne laughed the kind of laugh that gave Shion constant worry for her aged lungs. He closed his eyes and tried to think of that voice. He was listening now only so that he might get another glimpse at it, hoping for a fourth word, at the very least.

            “And then, of course, there’s my neighbor! Next to me we’ve got Shion – oh, he’s such a darling, young as you, if you’ll believe it, and downright genius, he’s already got his degree in that fancy university and is working on his masters at just twenty years old – oh, what an age twenty years old was, let me tell you!”

            Shion knew this was the time to tune out, that what came next was what he didn’t want to hear, what he couldn’t stand to hear no matter how many times he heard it.

            He was not bitter. He had long since, in his twenty years, accepted things for how they were. It was the only reality he knew, and he was happy with his life as it was.

            But that didn’t mean he liked to hear it. It didn’t make it any easier, to be reminded that what he was _wasn’t_ normal, that it had to be pointed out because even though it was the only life he knew, it was not the life most people had.

            Still, he couldn’t tune her out, not when there was a chance to hear that voice again.

            “He’s working at the university while he studies – a teacher’s assistant, you see. Wish he was my own son, this Shion is something special, and his mother – oh, you’ll have to try her cakes! I’ve just given him my order this morning, you’ll have to come by and help yourself, you hear?”

            And then Anne was excusing herself, and the new tenant said nothing else until silence hung thickly in the hall and seeped under his door to where Shion sat at his desk. He was surprised – Anne hadn’t even mentioned it, and it was almost for a moment like it wasn’t true.

            Shion shook his head angrily. He didn’t know why he was thinking like this all of a sudden. As if there was an alternate reality to that which he knew, as if there was another way to live within his grasp. The thoughts were foolish and unnecessary and, to be honest, embarrassing.

            It was probably lack of sleep, messing with him. With his first class of actual teaching looming on top of the rest of his coursework, it was no wonder the stress was giving Shion such longings for what he hadn’t longed for since he was a child (with the exception of those eight weeks of drunkenness two years before, of course).

            When Shion went to bed later that night, after sending the email to his mother and deciding he’d order the new keypad the next morning, he dreamt of sounds, as usual.

            Not as usual, however, was the specific sound, the sound of three words, of a quiet voice that drew him in, that had made Shion look up at the door and wish, for a moment, that he could see its owner.

            _Yes, thank you._

*

Shion could tell there were three other people in the elevator.

            Two got out on floor four, leaving himself and one other to ride until floor six, where Shion stepped forward at the ding of the doors.

            He tapped his stick, of course, but still bumped into something, and quickly stepped back.

            “Sorry.”

            “Oh, sorry.”

            Shion’s apology tangled with another, spoken in _the voice._ It was the new tenant on his floor.

            Shion listened to his footsteps, then followed them, careful with his stick, until he felt the muted shuffle of carpet beneath his sneakers and knew he was out of the elevator. He stuck out his hand.

            “Hi, you must be the new tenant.” Shion could remember the name Anne had offered him, but wanted to hear it in the man’s voice.

            “Right, yeah. Are you – Shion?”

            Shion could hear the hesitation, but there was something different about it, something Shion could not quite place, despite his aptitude with reading voices. It was unnerving, that he could not read this voice.

            But also comforting, in a way. Shion imagined this must be what people spoke of when they mentioned unreadable expressions.

            The hand enveloping his was large, but the fingers felt delicate, and the skin was startlingly warm and inviting. Shion was disappointed when Nezumi dropped his hand from his.

            “Yeah. I live next to Anne.”

            “She mentioned you,” the new tenant said, and Shion could tell what he wasn’t saying: _But she didn’t mention…_ “Oh, right, I’m Nezumi.”

            Shion couldn’t help himself from smiling. The name in this quiet voice felt like velvet, much different from when Anne had said it.

            “Nezumi,” Shion repeated, trying it out for himself and loving the taste of it. “Nice to meet you.”

            “Yeah…you too.”

            Shion bit his lip to keep his smile from growing. As repetitive as they were, Shion liked meeting new people, gauging their voices and the inevitable confusion.

            Shion didn’t wear sunglasses. He had his stick, of course, but it was his eyes that unnerved people, he knew. He tended to stare, but it wasn’t as though he could help it. He could wear glasses to make others more comfortable, but his mother had told him years before that she wished he wouldn’t.

            _I know it’s unfair that you can’t see the rest of the world, but it would be just another injustice if the world couldn’t see you. You are beautiful, Shion._

            Shion had to take his mother’s word for it, though she’d caught him later in the bathroom rubbing his fingers over his face. He did so in front of the mirror – unconsciously – but even so, the humor of the situation was not lost on him. It was in the doorway of the bathroom that his mother told him that much of his beauty could not be felt.

            _It’s your eyes, Shion. You have the most beautiful eyes._

            She said they were red. Shion did not understand red. He hoped it was a nice color – whatever color was, exactly. He could trust his mother with most things, but it wasn’t unknown to Shion that a mother tended to be bias towards her children.

            Still, after that day, Shion didn’t bother with sunglasses. He figured that as much as people stared at him, it was the least Shion could do to stare back.

            Shion offered a smile to Nezumi and excused himself by stretching out his stick. Three taps to his door, and he fished out his key to the sound of Nezumi behind him, clamoring with his own door. The apartment complex was not a new one, and the keys often took work – additional work, when Shion couldn’t even see the keyhole.

            All of his frustrations resulting from the cumbersome lock were suddenly worth it, however, when the old locks granted him yet another handful of Nezumi’s words from behind him.

            “Goddammit, fucking lock.”

            Shion didn’t know much about beautiful – what it meant, what it looked like.

            But he thought he was beginning to understand what it sounded like.

*

The knocking on his door was too frail to belong to anyone but Anne, and Shion untangled himself from his blankets with a call.

            “One second!”

            Shion sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed at his eyes, hitting his clock and listening to it announce in a morose drone that it was just past nine in the morning. Shion stumbled over to his door, ruffling his hair with one hand and turning the knob with the other to reveal the scratchy voice of his next-door neighbor.

            “Darling! But you’ll have to come over immediately, of course!” Anne exclaimed excitedly.

            “Is everything okay?” Shion muttered, failing in stifling a yawn. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips and leaned against the door he held open.

            “Your mother has invested in a delivery girl, you see, just the most darling thing, and she’s gone and delivered my order! Do come over and keep an old woman company for tea, will you?”

            Shion usually stopped by his mother’s bakery every week to collect Anne’s orders and deliver them himself, but he could remember his mother speaking about hiring an enthusiastic little girl from the neighborhood who longed to work at the bakery.

            “Mm, sure, let me just wash my face, and I’ll be right over.”

            “I’ll leave the door unlocked, darling!”

            Shion shut the door and shook his head. He knew for a fact that Anne always left her door unlocked, no matter how many times Shion warned her otherwise.

            He headed to his bathroom, brushed his teeth, and splashed water over his face. Even though it was Saturday, Shion rarely slept in past nine, and was surprised he hadn’t woken automatically himself. He supposed it was his dream – he’d been sleeping strangely the past few nights, though he couldn’t remember what he dreamt about upon waking.

            Shion didn’t bother changing out of his t-shirt, but pulled a pair of jeans over his boxers and headed next door in his socks. He let himself into Anne’s and locked the door behind him, by habit.

            “…and you’ll have to try a bite of this too, of course – Oh, did you want more tea?”

            Shion walked curiously to Anne’s kitchen, wondering whom she could be talking to, and worrying for just a second that the woman’s age had finally caught up to her and she was talking to herself.

            A response in the form of a quiet murmur instantly answered Shion’s curiosity.

            “Please, I’m going to burst.”

            Shion froze at the doorway of the kitchen. He reached up and attempted to flatten his hair, regretting his decision not to change his shirt, which was no doubt wrinkled from sleep.

            Not that it mattered. Why should it matter?

            “Oh, Shion, come here, sit next to Nezumi, I’ve cut you a piece of cake – cherry, of course. Don’t be shy, why are you still standing there? Come, come, before your tea gets cold, you see?”

            Shion walked slowly to the table, which he knew was two paces from the doorway, and felt the back of a chair before sliding into it carefully.

            “You two have met, I trust? Oh, it’s simply wonderful that there’s another young person for you to talk with, isn’t it, Shion? The moment I saw him, I thought of you, darling, and thought – Well, surely this is perfect for Shion! It’s not good to be surrounded by the elderly in your youth, you see. Mind you, I won’t deny my own spirit, but a neighbor your own age can’t go amiss.”

            Shion reached out cautiously and felt the warmth of a porcelain cup pressed into his palm.

            “Here you are, darling, careful now, it’s still hot.”

            Shion offered a grateful smile to Anne and cupped his other hand around the mug as he brought it to his lips. He didn’t take a sip, but let the steam brush over his cheeks and warm his face.

            “The cherry cake next, Nezumi, dear – ”

            “I really can’t – ”

            “I won’t hear any more of your objections! You’re too thin, it simply won’t do if I have a say about it. Shion – isn’t he too thin?”

            Shion smiled into his tea, imagining Nezumi’s expression. It wasn’t that Anne forgot; she merely treated Shion like everyone else. She seemed to realize that for all Shion could not see, he had learned to interpret.

            Nezumi’s weight, however, had not quite registered in their brief acquaintances of passing each other in the hall, though Shion knew he was light on his feet, rather silent, for a man his height, and Shion imagined he was very graceful.

            “Yeah, he’s too thin,” Shion agreed, taking a sip of tea to hide his grin.

            “But – ”

            “If Shion says it, you know it’s true. Though Shion, really, you’re too thin yourself, I’ve been saying it for years, do eat more, I beg you every day.”

            “I know you do,” Shion sighed, placing his mug down and feeling for his fork.

            There was a pause in the conversation, a scraping of forks, and Shion kept his eyes on his plate, unwilling to put Nezumi through any more discomfort just yet and sparing him from his stare. It was probably too early for cherry cake, but Shion could never say no to it.

            It was the low voice that broke the silence, surprisingly bright for the first time Shion heard it. “Shit. This is good – Oh, sorry, Anne, I didn’t mean – ”

            Anne laughed. “Sweetheart, I may be up in my years, but I’m not some frail old lady, am I, Shion?”

            “She’s not a frail old lady,” Shion echoed, tilting his head up in Nezumi’s direction. He wondered if Nezumi was looking at him. He wondered what Nezumi saw.

            Shion held his breath for a pause, then let it out slowly. There he went with those kinds of thoughts again. He had no reason to wonder what he looked like. It wouldn’t matter, if someone took the time to describe it to him. He did not know what a nose looked like, how eyebrows were shaped, the way cheekbones appeared. One of his classmates had once attempted to explain shapes to him, and though Shion could feel them well enough, no picture came to mind because he _couldn’t_ picture things. He had no basis, no framework, no idea where to start with imagining lines and curves.

            He had sounds and textures and smells and tastes, and they were all overwhelming enough that at times; Shion was astonished that people even had room for another sense. He wondered where it fit in, how the thoughts formed, how they could be different from the other four senses. He wondered, but he did not long for this fifth sense, as his life was complete with just four, and a fifth would not fit with his lifestyle.

            He had no business, thinking about how his new next-door neighbor, of all people, might see him, not when he had no idea what “seeing” even entailed.

            “Oh, and darling, I’ve found a new grey hair, and that inkling of a wrinkle is sixty percent formed. I expect a full-fledged new wrinkle by the end of the next week, I fear.”

            “Let me see,” Shion said, reaching out.

            Anne’s hand was soft as dough, and much cooler than Nezumi’s had been – but then, why was Shion even comparing the two? It took Shion’s hand and guided his fingers to Anne’s face, where Shion felt the corners of her eyes. Indeed, the new wrinkle the woman had been obsessing over since Shion first moved in next door felt as it always had.

            “I see no difference. You’ve been saying it would be fully-fledged in a week for two years,” Shion reminded, as he always did.

            Anne chuckled and kissed Shion’s palm before letting go. “You’re too good for me, darling. Now, Nezumi, I see you’re ready for another slice – ”

            “I wish I could, but – ”

            “It’s easier if you just listen to her,” Shion advised, earning himself a gentle slap on the shoulder from Anne.

            “Your mom made all this, right?”

            Shion nodded, and found himself wondering what nodding looked like, then quickly dashing such thoughts from his head.

            “She’s amazing.”

            “You’ll have to meet her, of course. Shion, do invite her here soon, I must see her again before I croak.”

            “Anne, you’re not going to croak anytime soon.”

            “Well, I’m sure she’s curious about Nezumi, after all you must have told her.”

            Shion licked his lips. “What do you mean? I haven’t told her anything.”

            “Why not?” Anne shrieked, sounding scandalized.

            Shion could feel Nezumi’s gaze. It was surprisingly heavy, despite the lightness of his voice.

            “We haven’t talked much,” Nezumi admitted, sounding sheepish, and Shion knew Anne would be glaring at them both.

            “Well, here’s your chance! Nezumi, what do you do?”

            “I’m an actor in the theater.”

            Shion was surprised by how many times his new neighbor was managing to surprise him.

            “An actor! Well, you’ve surely got the looks for it. He’s stunning, Shion, let me tell you – ”

            “I’m not – ”

            “Don’t interrupt an old woman! Shion, you simply must see him – ”

            “Oh, Anne, no, I don’t think that’s – It’s fine, really,” Shion stammered. He wasn’t about to ask the man he’d only met a few days before if he could feel his face. Besides, seeing, for Shion, was intimate. Where most people saw thousands of faces a day, Shion had only ever seen a handful – no pun intended. There was his mother, of course, and then Rikiga, when the man had been drunk and pleaded with Shion to finally look at him. And then there was Anne, who had insisted upon it at first meeting, grabbing Shion’s hand and pressing it against her cheeks.

            Shion hadn’t minded. Anne was Anne, and there was no arguing with her. Besides, she had a way, on first meeting, in making herself not a neighbor but an immediate friend.

            “Oh – Shit – ” Nezumi muttered, breaking Shion from his thoughts and relieving him of having to come up with an excuse, “I’m sorry, I’m late for rehearsal. Anne, thank you so much for everything, really, it was delicious.”

            “Don’t tell me! Tell Karan!”

            “Karan?”

            “My mom,” Shion explained.

            “Take some with you – ”

            “No, I couldn’t – ”

            “Oh, stop your arguing. Go to your rehearsal, I’ll wrap some up and Shion will drop them off later. When is your rehearsal finished?”

            Shion suppressed his sigh. He knew completely well that Anne could easily have walked across the hall and delivered the food herself, but her actions always had alternative reasoning, and he’d long since given up trying to protest against her will.

            “After rehearsal I have a show, it ends at ten – it’s late, there’s no reason for – ”

            “Shion will be there. Right?”

            Shion smiled in resignation. “Of course. It’s no problem, Nezumi, as long as it’s okay with you. Like I said, there’s no reason to argue with her, you’re going to lose.”

            There was a small pause to allow for Anne to radiate her smugness, after which Nezumi said, in his quiet voice, “See you tonight, then.”

            Shion listened to him walk out and close the door behind him before rounding on Anne.

            “What was that?” he demanded.

            “What?” Anne asked, feigning innocence in a way that fooled no one.

            “What are you up to, Anne?” Shion asked, only slightly exasperated, mostly amused by his neighbor’s constant meddling.

            “Young people aren’t meant to be lonely, you see. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. It’s just not right.”

            “I’m not lonely. I’ve got you.”

            “Oh, darling, you know how to make an old woman laugh, I’ll tell you that.”

            They ate without mention of the new tenant until Shion excused himself after helping to wash the dishes.

            He spent most of the rest of the day in the library across the apartment building, attempting to get done some reading, though he constantly found himself with his finger halfway down the page and not a word registered. In the end, he headed back to his apartment with only half of his homework done and a promise to himself to finish it after eating something.

            That something turned out to be just a bite of an apple, and he broke his own promise by laying on his bed and listening to the sounds of his apartment, occasionally slamming his palm against his clock and listening to it morosely document the slow passing of the afternoon.

            When it sadly announced the arrival of 10:15 pm, Shion shoved himself from his mattress. He washed his face twice, felt his cheeks and the bags pulling under his eyes, sighed, then grabbed the bag of his mother’s wrapped baked goods that Anne had put aside for Nezumi. He almost left without taking his stick, as he never used it when staying in the apartment building, but he didn’t know the layout of Nezumi’s apartment, and figured he might need it, just in case Nezumi invited him in, though of course, there was no reason for that.

            One more slam of his fist, and 10:27 pm announced the time when Shion took a deep breath and headed over to Nezumi’s.

            He listened outside Nezumi’s doorway for a few seconds before knocking twice, lightly.

            The door opened after half a minute, which Shion spent counting backwards from one thousand.

            “Hey.”

            Every time he heard the voice, Shion felt drawn into it, surprised over and over by its smoothness and its calmness. It was almost inhuman, not by means of being primal or artificial, but deep and thick, like something Shion felt he could fall into, if he took one more step forward.

              “Hi. Delivering this,” Shion said, holding up the bag. He felt Nezumi take it, and was about to step back and say good night when the quiet voice interrupted his plans.

            “Thanks. You should come in.”

            “It’s okay – You must be tired – ”

            “Actually, I was thinking I’d dig into this again. Your mom’s cake is too tempting. Might as well keep me company.”

            Shion bit his cheek, but there was really no question – he’d brought his stick, after all, could he have been more presumptuous?

            Shion could feel Nezumi’s stare as he stepped through the threshold, his stick before him.

            “What?”

            “Huh?”

            “You’re staring at me. Why? Have I got something on my face?”

            There was a pause, and Shion allowed Nezumi his moment of shock.

            “The kitchen’s to your left,” Nezumi murmured, and Shion obliged, realizing the layout was similar to Anne’s place. “How did you know I was looking at you?”

            “It’s all an act. I’m not actually blind.”

            Nezumi laughed, a short laugh that was even better than his voice.

            Shion felt it sink through him, wanted to lean closer but forced himself to find his way to the table and sit. “I can usually tell when people are looking at me.”

            “Like a sixth sense.”

            “A fifth, in my case,” Shion corrected, and Nezumi laughed again.

            Shion bit his lip. He didn’t know what he was doing, but for the first time, he wondered what it looked like, when someone laughed.

            He wanted to feel Nezumi, but wrapped his fingers around each other in his lap, ashamed.

            “That. That’s why I was looking at you.”

            “What?”

            “You’re blushing. I just can’t imagine why.”

            Shion ducked his head, and Nezumi chuckled again. It was hard to decide if the sound was worth the mortification.

            “Was it an accident?”

            “What?”

            “However you lost your eyesight. Was it – is that why you have that scar?”

            Shion shrugged, wishing to put Nezumi at ease. He knew that asking about his appearance and blindness was uncomfortable for other people, though he wasn’t really sure why, as he never felt discomfort himself. “No. I was born blind and with the scar.”

            “And the hair, too, I’m guessing.”

            “No, I bleach that regularly. I couldn’t stand the look of my old hair color.”

            Nezumi laughed again, and Shion heard him put plates on the table.

            “How was your show?”

            “Fine. Saturday night’s crowd is okay – it’s the shows during the week that bring in the drunks.”

            “What show is it?”

            “ _Oedipus Rex._ ”

            “Are you Oedipus?”

            “Nah, I’m his mother. And his wife, I guess.”

            “You play a woman?” Now Shion was more tempted than ever to feel Nezumi’s face.

            “Yeah. The manager at this theater saw me performing as Ophelia in my old theater and said he thought I made the perfect woman. He came to recruit someone for his Jocasta, and he asked me.”

            “Wow. If you wanted to make me curious as to what you look like, you’ve succeeded.”

            “It’s the boobs.”

            Shion laughed, though of course, he did not know the difference in appearance between men and women. From what he’d felt, Anne and his mother’s cheekbones had been more defined than Rikiga’s and his own, their faces slightly thinner and softer and their jawlines less defined.

            It wasn’t much to go off, especially given the small size of his sample groups. From what he could tell, men and women were nearly identical in looks – at least, of their faces, though of course Shion knew the difference in anatomies – but their voices were incredibly different.

            He wondered how Nezumi had managed to mask his voice as a women’s.

            They talked until Shion felt exhaustion setting in, and only when they’d finished all of the cherry pie Nezumi had received from Anne did Shion finally excuse himself for the night.

            Back in his apartment, Shion hit his clock and was told somberly that it was past two in the morning. His exhaustion fell away with the astonishing realization that even after spending four hours with the man, Nezumi had not once asked the standard “blind man inquiries.”

            He did not ask what it was like to blind. He did not ask what Shion saw, whether he could see at all, whether he wished he could see. He did not ask if Shion’s other senses were sharper, or what sense Shion used most. He did not ask if it was difficult to live in a world meant for those with sight.

            There was nothing wrong with those questions, and Shion was never bitter when people inevitably asked him. He understood curiosity, and felt it to, in the opposite respect.

            But there was something overwhelmingly refreshing in being able to forget, for a few hours, that he was not like the person he conversed with.

            Despite how late it was, Shion stayed awake for hours, thinking over the different contortions of Nezumi’s voice and laugh he’d heard that night, wondering when he would get to hear them again, hoping it would be soon.

*

Shion’s life was very much centered on routine. He saw with patterns.

            Three steps from the couch and there was the table, two steps from the kitchen and there was the door, three steps from the door and there was the elevator, one step from the elevator and there was Anne’s room. Three blocks down was his mother’s bakery, five the other way was his university. Twenty-seven steps and one crosswalk took him from his apartment building to the library, and fifteen steps from the library door was his favorite table, thirty-six steps to the left of which was the section in braille and audiotapes.

            This routine was broken momentarily by the new tenant, but stitched together with a new pattern that Shion learned eagerly.

            Four steps from his door was Nezumi’s. Seven steps from Nezumi’s door was his kitchen doorway, two away was the table, one to the left was his fridge. Eight from the kitchen doorway was his living room couch, one step in front was a coffee table, three steps away was the bookshelf that he’d bumped into once, after he stopped bringing his walking stick over.

            Within two weeks of his move, Shion had every chord of Nezumi’s voice down. He knew the curve of Nezumi’s sarcasm, the scratch of his groggy murmurs, the sharpness of his retorts, the quiet of his exhaustion. He knew the warmth of his laughter and the softness of his sighs.

            Shion saw not in colors or shapes, but in sounds, in smells and tastes and touch as well, but mostly in sounds, and from what Shion could tell, the new tenant was the most beautiful man he’d ever met.

            Beautiful enough that Shion wanted to see him every way he could. To smell and taste and touch him, yes, but to _see_ him, to somehow find a way to experience that fifth sense because surely four would not be enough, not for _this_ man.

            But of course, that was impossible, and Shion knew he must not think of it.

            Still, a man could dream, and dream Shion did, of what he thought shapes might resemble, of what he thought colors might appear as, of what he thought Nezumi might look like.

            He was wrong, but it didn’t matter. He forgot all of his dreams on waking anyway.

*

The thing with falling is that it’s much scarier if when done in the dark.

            Shion’s entire life was the dark, and when he fell in love, he had nothing to hold on to but his own fear.

            He was making dinner with Anne in her kitchen when he came to this conclusion.

            “I’m getting old, you see.”

            “Needs salt,” Shion commented, pulling the spoon from his lips. “And we’re all getting old, Anne.”

            “No. You’re all getting older, but I’m the one getting old. Well, and Patrick too, that sweetheart, we must ask him over tonight, I simply won’t have it any other way.”

            Anne consistently asked Patrick over, and Patrick consistently declined as politely as he could through his closed door. It was a game of theirs Shion wasn’t quite sure the reason for, but then, he supposed it wasn’t only the blind who found comfort in routine.

            “There’s nothing wrong with getting old. You’re out of tomatoes.”

            “Of course there’s not! Who said there was something wrong with getting old? I surely didn’t, I can bet you that. Getting old is the greatest privilege I’ve ever had, let me tell you. And use cucumbers instead, darling, they should be in the lowest drawer.”

            Shion searched the lowest drawer and wrapped his hand around a cucumber. “Okay, I just thought you sounded…regretful.”

            “Regretful? Surely not! Let me tell you something, Shion – Do you know what I hate to see? Of course you do, I say it all the time! I hate to see young people busying themselves with being lonely. And then I happen across you as a neighbor, and you’re the sweetest thing, but you’re a young man, you see?”

            “I really have to insist that I’m not lonely – ”

            “Not any more, you see. But still a little, don’t deny it, don’t you argue with me, sweetheart, I know these things. You see these wrinkles? Of course you don’t, but if you could, you’d read them and find them riddled with wisdom. Hell, give me your hand, let my wrinkles be your braille and read to me what they say, come on.”

            “Anne,” Shion laughed as he felt the old woman take his hand in hers. She was getting softer every day, and her face was softer still. Shion read the lines on her forehead, and found age and frailty that he had never known before. How could he not have noticed that his strong neighbor was getting so old?

            “Tell me, what do my wise wrinkles say?”

            Shion fluttered his calloused fingertips, playing along. “Hmm, your wrinkles say this salad would have been better with tomatoes, but the cucumbers will do the job.”

            “Nonsense! My wisdom does not revolve around vegetables! I’ll tell you what they say because I read them in the mirror every day, you see. They say that my time is expiring, and yet I still have a lonely young man for a neighbor. No – I have _two_ lonely young men as neighbors. It’s appalling!”

            “Why am I the only one getting this speech? Have you let Nezumi read your wrinkles?”

            “Oh, please, that boy is blind. Not you, Shion, what you lack in sight you have in insight, you know it’s true. Now do hurry up and stop being lonely, now that you’ve got your chance. I’d like to live to see you a happy young man, you see.”

            “Anne, what are you talking about? What chance?”

            “Don’t ‘what chance’ me! Now go fetch Nezumi, you’ve absolutely destroyed the cucumbers, and I refuse to let you touch my onions.”

            “I did not destroy them!” Shion protested, feeling the pieces he’d attempted to cut into even chunks.

            “You’re blind, what do you know? And while you’re over there, will you tell that man how you feel about him before I have a heart attack? Is that too much for an old woman to ask for?”

            Shion froze, his hands stilling under the faucet of the sink. Warm water caressed his skin.

            “What?”

            “Have you gone deaf too? Now that would be a tragedy. Two wrongs don’t make a right, let me tell you, you’ll be blundering all over the place – ”

            “Wait, Anne, what did you mean? What do you mean, tell Nezumi how I feel about him?” Shion asked, feeling weak.

            “Now don’t tell me I go bragging about how my neighbor is a genius for nothing! Surely you’ve worked out how you feel about this man, and if you haven’t, you can take any attempts at denial out of this kitchen because you know I’m not a lady that will stand to be lied to, you know that, darling.”

            “I don’t – ”

            “Out! And turn off this faucet, you’re running my water bill, you see? Go on, talk to Nezumi, snag him quickly because I’ll tell you, that man surely is a sight.”

            Shion felt his shoulders fall. “If you’re saying what I think you’re saying…”

            “That you’re helplessly in love with the man, yes, that is what you should think I’m saying – ”

            “Anne!”

            “That blush is cute on you, I do enjoy it. You’re too pale otherwise, it’s unsightly, you see.”

            “Anne, just – Say I am…what you said. Then, well, won’t Nezumi be wasted on me?”

            “Of course he’ll be wasted on a sucker like you! You can’t even look at the man, and he has unparalleled beauty! It’s unfair, it’s abhorrent, it makes me insane, it’s unjust, but so is a man born blind, and then there’s you, you see? Now do go on, I refuse to get younger, and if I get any older I’ll keel over before you can stammer a confession out of those lips.”

            “Oh,” Shion groaned, pressing his hand against his lips but letting himself be pushed out of Anne’s kitchen all the same. He felt dizzy, but it was only the steam of the kitchen.

            After all, nothing Anne had said was really new information. Shion had known this, he was blind but not _blind_ , he knew his own feelings, his own thoughts – at the very least, he could feel his own heartbeat whenever he was around the new tenant that wasn’t really new anymore, now that three months of his residence in the apartment two doors to the left and across the hall had passed.

            But denial was easy, it was safe, it was comforting in the dark where Shion lived. He liked his new routine too much to resort back to the old one, the one where it didn’t matter how many steps it took from his door to Nezumi’s, where it didn’t matter what Nezumi’s laugh sounded like on the other side of a phone line.

            Shion was knocking on Nezumi’s door, but he was already regretting letting himself feel the way he did. How could he ask Nezumi to join in this lifestyle with him? How could he even propose it of such an apparently beautiful man?

            Shion did not feel the restrictions of living without sight. But those who knew sight would feel them, would be trapped by them, and Nezumi was not a man to be trapped. He was a man that needed space, freedom, who could not be dragged back by the hand of a blind man who couldn’t keep up in a world ruled by those with sight.

            “Hey,” Nezumi said, opening the door, “dinner at Anne’s, right? I’m coming, I just need to grab – You okay?”

            Shion kept his face to the floor. “Anne just said to come quickly. She’s hungry.”

            “You didn’t answer me.”

            “And if you have any tomatoes – ”

            “Shion, look at me –”

            _“I can’t!”_ Shion shouted in a way that hurt his throat, but his throat had already been hurting, it felt tight and his eyes felt wet, his useless eyes had the audacity to tear up over frustrations he hadn’t felt since he was a kid first realizing that this wasn’t normal, that it was dark that he saw, not light, even though he didn’t know one from the other, but surely whatever he had couldn’t be the good thing.

            He turned away, one step to the elevator, jammed the button but of course it would take too long, long enough for Nezumi’s footsteps to find their way beside him, for Shion to feel Nezumi’s warm fingers wrapping around his.

            “Yes, you can. You know that. Whenever you want, you can look at me. It’s not fair, that I get to look at you whenever I want, and you don’t, so I’m telling you, right now, that you can look at me whenever you want. All right?”

            Shion took deep breaths. He heard the elevator door beep and slide open, but he couldn’t leave if he wanted to. He didn’t have his walking stick, he’d take one step out his building and have nowhere to go.

            He hated it. He hadn’t let himself hate it in so long, but Shion realized now that he hated always having to rely on that thing.

            He wanted to be like Nezumi. He wanted to be free. He wanted to be beautiful.

            “You should hurry up and tell me what’s wrong before Anne falls dead from hunger.”

            “You shouldn’t joke about her dying. It could happen any day now.”

            “It wasn’t a joke. Seriously, hurry up.”

            Nezumi squeezed Shion’s hand, and Shion pulled it away.

            “Nothing’s wrong. Aren’t I allowed to have tantrums every now and then?”

            “As a twenty-year-old man? Not really.”

            “Come on, let’s eat,” Shion muttered, leading the way.

            Nezumi did not protest, and Anne said nothing when they arrived despite the thinness of the walls and the fact that Shion knew she had heard his shout, and probably the rest of the conversation on top of that.

            She did not tell Nezumi that she was getting old, or that what she hated more than anything was to see a lonely young person. She did not even invite Patrick.

            Shion and Nezumi did the dishes side by side as Anne retired herself for an early night, thanking them in advance and blaming her age for forcing sleep on her before the sun even felt tired.

            “Nezumi,” Shion said quietly.

            Nezumi didn’t reply. Shion had already explained to him that in the way people glanced at each other, he instead said their names. It did not require a response. It was more of a check, a reflex.

            “Can you tell me what you look like?”

            Shion could feel Nezumi’s gaze. “Why don’t you just see for yourself?”

            Shion shook his head. “First, I want you to tell me.”

            Nezumi sighed, and Shion felt him go still beside him. Shion continued to wash the dishes, liking the feel of the sudsy water over his hands.

            “How do I tell you? You don’t know colors, or shapes.”

            “I know smells. I know sounds and tastes and feelings. Just describe how you look in terms of those.”

            “How am I supposed to do that?”

            “Easy. People describe things with other senses all the time. Ever heard of a sandpaper voice?”

            “That’s different.”

            “Are you going to tell me what you look like or not?” Shion demanded.

            The thing about Nezumi was Shion wasn’t sure if he would. Everyone pitied the blind man, but Nezumi never had.

            It was one of the reasons, Shion supposed, that he’d fallen in love with him.

            “Okay. Um, my eyes are…sharp?”

            Shion grinned. “Good. Go on.”

            “I feel stupid.”

            “This is how I see. Keep going.”

            Nezumi sighed loudly. “My skin is kind of pale I guess – wait, I mean, it’s – shit, this is hard.”

            “I’m sorry. You’re on the spot, I understand why that would be hard. Why don’t you take a couple minutes to think about it, no rush,” Shion conceded.

            “Your blindness is irritating,” Nezumi muttered.

            Shion smiled and continued washing the dishes.

            The silence did not last long, but the dishes were finished, and Shion leaned against the sink, raising his head to face Nezumi.

            “I think I’ve got it.”

            “Okay,” Shion said quietly. He was nervous, somehow, and hoped he wasn’t blushing.

            “I said my eyes are sharp, but they’re also quiet. And my skin is silence too. I have long hair – ”

            “Don’t compare it to silk,” Shion interrupted.

            “Don’t interrupt me,” Nezumi snapped with a dramatic sigh. Shion grinned and gestured for him to continue. “Anyway, for my hair I’d go with honey.”

            “Honey? Is it gold?”

            “How do you know what color honey is?”

            “I’m not an idiot. I know what color things are, I just don’t know what those colors look like.”

            “Oh. Well, it’s not the color of honey, but, you know, the taste.”

            “Your hair is sweet?”

            “Dammit, Shion, you’re the one who said – ”

            “I’m kidding, Nezumi, I’m kidding. That was perfect.” And it was. There were still his lips and his cheeks and his eyelashes and the parts of him that weren’t just neck up – Shion wanted to know all of Nezumi. But that, he would need to find out on his own, if Nezumi would let him.

            “Can I – Can I see for myself now?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi didn’t answer, but his hand was around Shion’s again, pulling his up, and Shion felt almost breathless.

            He was about to see the man that had stolen his heart for the first time.

            Shion raised his other hand and let Nezumi take it and place both Shion’s hands on his skin before dropping his own hands.

            Shion laughed.

            “What? Is my face funny? Am I allowed to talk while you do this?”

            “Yeah, you can talk,” Shion said, tracing his fingers gently along Nezumi’s cheeks. His cheekbones were prominent, like a girl’s, Shion thought, and he could understand what Nezumi’s manager had been saying a little more.

            “You better not poke me in the eye.”

            “I changed my mind, you can’t talk.” Shion felt the bridge of Nezumi’s nose, traced his fingers higher between his eyebrows, along his forehead, back down and around, gently over his eyelashes, and he could feel them fluttering beneath his touch, like the softest notes of music.

            He ran his fingers around to Nezumi’s ears, felt the soft lobes, ran his hands further back and found that Nezumi’s hair was long, most of it pulled into a ponytail but there were loose strands too, shorter ones that ended by his chin, and ones even shorter still, sweeping across his forehead.

            _It’s like honey_ , Shion thought, smiling, because it was.

            “Do you want me to take out the ponytail?” Nezumi asked quietly.

            “No, I can do it,” Shion said, stepping closer to wind his arms behind Nezumi’s head and gently pull his hair free. It fell softly, and Shion ran his fingers through it, coated his fingers with the honey.

            “How do I look?” Nezumi asked, and Shion could hear his smirk but he wanted to _see_ it.

            He’d been saving the lips for last, and traced his fingers back to Nezumi’s jawline, down to his chin, then up slowly. With his calloused fingertips barely grazing Nezumi’s skin, he touched the flesh of Nezumi’s lips, and they parted under his fingertips. He felt Nezumi’s warm breath beneath the pad of his thumb and saw what he had known since the first time he’d heard Nezumi’s voice:

            This man was beautiful.

            “Thank you,” Shion murmured, lowering his hands, hands that were full of Nezumi and maybe stained with him forever, hands that were caught by Nezumi’s before Shion could wrap them into fists to keep this man’s warmth on them as long as it would stay.

            “Shion.”

            “Yeah.”

            Nezumi didn’t respond. He was waiting, and Shion knew what he was waiting for.

            Shion uncurled his fingers from Nezumi’s, raised his hand back to those lips, pressed his thumb against them until they parted. He stepped forward and didn’t know what he was doing, but he leaned up and curled his other fingers around Nezumi’s cheek so he could pull Nezumi forward, just the smallest bit.

            Their kiss was a cluster of lips. One man was blind and the other took control, his long fingers wrapping around Shion’s cheek and tilting his chin just the smallest bit higher so that they fit.

            When Nezumi opened his mouth wider, Shion could taste him, and it was more than he could handle, along with the heat of his mouth and breath and tongue and lips and the sound of their lips, anything but delicate but it didn’t matter because _he was kissing Nezumi._ Shion was certain, now, that no such thing as sight existed, that it was all an elaborate prank gone on for twenty years, and he’d only just realized it was all a ruse. There was just no room for another sense, not on top of _this_ , there was no way anything could exist outside this kiss and everything Shion was feeling from it.

            _This_ was beautiful. _This_ was every shape, and when Nezumi did that with his tongue _that_ was every color.

            Shion was surprised he could have ever thought himself as anything less than whole.

*

“I feel sorry for you.”

            The afternoon was warm, filled with blankets and tangled limbs and breaths fighting not to be so heavy in the still room.

            Shion was lying with his cheek resting against Nezumi’s chest, but his arm was raised, and he was tracing Nezumi’s lips and the corners of his eyes and the edges of his cheekbones. He could not imagine tiring of looking at this man.

            At Nezumi’s words, however, Shion froze, his fingertips stopping on Nezumi’s hairline.

            “You can never see yourself,” Nezumi continued, and Shion let out his breath and continued his tracing.

            “That’s not so upsetting.”

            “I think it is. You’ll never see what I see.”

            “Yeah, but you’ll never see what I see either,” Shion pointed out, his fingers skating over Nezumi’s jawline.

            “I can feel up my own face if I wanted to.”

            Shion laughed and shook his head against Nezumi’s chest. Nezumi didn’t understand.

            “I have an idea,” Nezumi said, after a minute.

            “Mm?”

            “Can I look at you?”

            Shion raised his head from Nezumi’s chest and turned towards him. “Like this?” he asked, confused as to why Nezumi even felt the need to ask for permission.

            “No. The way you look at me. With my hands.”

            Shion smiled. “You can try. I doubt you’ll see anything the way I do.”

            “Your ability to underestimate me continues to surprise me,” Nezumi remarked smugly.

            Shion shook his head and reached for Nezumi’s hands. “Okay, close your eyes.”

            “They’re closed.”

            “Seriously. No peeking.”

            “I’m not.”

            “Okay, okay.” Shion sat up so that he straddled Nezumi, then pressed Nezumi’s hands to his cheeks. He let his hands drop and kept them at his sides so he wouldn’t distract Nezumi.

            Nezumi’s long fingers were graceful as they danced lightly along his skin. Shion closed his eyes and fell into the feel of his fingertips tracing his jawline and lips. Nezumi’s thumbs circled around his cheeks, and his fingers fluttered over his eyelashes.

            “Would you be able to recognize me just from feeling my face?”

            “Yes,” Shion replied, and Nezumi’s thumb dipped between his lips and touched Shion’s tongue before trickling back out. “What do you think of my face?”

            Shion felt Nezumi sit up beneath him, and shuffled back a bit on Nezumi’s bare thighs as Nezumi weaved his fingers through Shion’s hair and pulled him gently forward so that their foreheads pressed together.

            “I think it looks a lot uglier than I was led to believe, and I don’t think I can hang out with you anymore.”

            Shion pushed him, but Nezumi caught him around the waist and flipped them over so that Shion was under him.

            “Let go of me, asshole!”

            “Never,” Nezumi murmured, deep into Shion’s skin like a tattoo that could be felt in its heat instead of seen, and Shion found himself hoping that this was a promise Nezumi would always keep.

*


	2. Chapter 2

It was beyond Shion’s capacity for understanding how Nezumi could be a singer and never have told him.

            “You said actor. You never said singer,” Shion protested.

            “This way, jeez, watch where you’re going, you almost ran into that guy.”

            “You idiot. I told you I should have brought my stick,” Shion complained, squeezing Nezumi’s hand harder.

            “You’re going to crush my bones. Just stick to my side, and I won’t let you run into anyone.”

            “If I had my stick this wouldn’t be a problem.”

            “You don’t need it with me,” Nezumi snapped.

            “I feel blind!” Shion moaned, but to be honest, he didn’t mind the excuse to press himself into Nezumi’s side. “This experiment was a failure.”

            “Give it a chance. It took you a while to see with that stick, now it’ll take you a while to see with me.”

            It had taken Shion by complete surprise when, after announcing he was going to attend one of Nezumi’s shows, Nezumi had taken his walking stick and thrown it back into his apartment. Shion had never known Nezumi had a secret caretaking side, and though he’d thought it was cute at first, now he was irritated by it. For as much as he wanted to be a caretaker, Nezumi was completely horrible at it and kept letting Shion bump into things.

            “I may not be able to see bruises, but I can feel them, you know,” Shion muttered, but Nezumi appeared to ignore him. Shion sighed and resumed the previous subject. “How come you’ve never sung for me?”

            “Why would I do that? These people pay good money, you think you can have the great Nezumi for free?” Nezumi asked loftily, laughing.

            Shion didn’t have a chance to think of a retort, as he slammed into something hard and reeled back.

            “Oh, shit, sorry. There’s a garbage can there, by the way.”

            “Is this a joke to you?” Shion snapped, caressing his knee.

            “Hey, Your Highness, don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise,” Nezumi said, squeezing Shion’s hand again.

            Shion sighed and tried to believe him.

            In the end, Nezumi kept his promise.

            If only Shion had made the same promise to him in turn.

*

The phone rang, but neither Anne, nor Shion, who was making her tea, answered it.

            “Here you go,” Shion said, placing the mug on the table. “Careful, it’s hot.”

            Anne took the mug between her gloved hands and gazed quietly into it. She had taken to wearing gloves in the house, as she claimed her hands were always cold. She did not talk as much as usual, so Shion took it up on himself to fill the silences.

            Before, she had filled his quiet moments, and now he would do the same for her.

            The phone quieted, then rang again a minute later. Shion turned and fumbled for it, clicking it on before handing it to Anne.

            “Hello?”

            Shion sat across from Anne and wondered how much longer Nezumi was going to be. He’d promised to help Shion study for his exam after Shion helped him with his lines for his newest play.

            “Oh dear…”

            Anne’s voice immediately caught Shion’s attention. She sounded frail enough to blow away.

            “Yes, of course, thank you,” Anne said quietly, and the click of the phone was deafening in comparison to her voice.

            “Is everything okay?” Shion asked, though clearly it wasn’t. He couldn’t imagine who had been on the phone.

            “Shion, Shion…”

            “What is it? Anne?”

            “We need to go to the hospital right now. It’s Nezumi.”

            The room was suddenly too small, and the air too thick.

            “Nezumi?” Shion asked, pretending he hadn’t heard correctly. He’d never wished he were deaf before. He’d never realized what a relief that could be.

            “Help me, we need to get there now. They said he’s stable for now, you see, but they don’t know how long – ”

            “You can’t come, you’re too – ” Shion stopped himself. He didn’t know what he would have said anyway. _Close to death_ suddenly seemed too harsh, despite their usual jokes.

            “I’m coming. Get your stick and come back for me, you hear? You come get me – ”

            “I will,” Shion called behind him, running next door to get his shoes and walking stick. He felt nauseous but refused to think about it.

            In the bus on the way to the hospital, Anne held Shion’s hand. Shion couldn’t feel any warmth because of her gloves.

            He called his mother to distract himself.

            “Mom?”

            _“Shion, honey, how are you?”_

            “Mom, it’s Nezumi.” Karan had taken an extreme liking to Nezumi since the first time they’d met. He’d made her promise to teach him how to bake every item on her menu, and she’d agreed under the condition that Nezumi made sure Shion visited more.

            Nezumi had only learned half the things on her menu. He had to be okay so that he could learn the rest. He’d never break a promise to Shion’s mother, he simply wouldn’t.

            _“What happened, sweetheart?”_

            “He’s in the hospital,” Shion whispered because it was all he could manage. “We’re going there now, I don’t even know – I don’t even know what happened.”

            “He was hit by a car,” Anne murmured.

            Shion groaned and ducked his head between his knees. He was going to be sick.

            _“Shion, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Did they say anything – ”_

            “He’s stable for now. That’s all they said – Is that all they said, Anne?”

            “That’s all they said, darling,” Anne said quietly, patting Shion’s arm.

            “Mom, what if – ”

_“Don’t think those things. You have to stay strong for him, remember that. He wouldn’t want you to be thinking those things.”_

            Shion knew that. But Shion didn’t want Nezumi to be getting hit by cars, and there he was, doing it anyway. Why should Shion do what Nezumi wanted? How was that fair?

            Shion managed not to throw up the entire bus ride, and once Anne was leading him into the hospital, all thoughts of nausea had disappeared. All thoughts whatsoever had disappeared but for those of Nezumi, the feel of his lips under Shion’s thumb, of his eyelashes under Shion’s fingertips.

            “Anne, I can’t – ”

            “Come on, he needs you, doesn’t he?”

            Shion nodded, allowed Anne to lead him to an information desk and then to whatever room number she must have received. He could not hear anything but the blood rushing through his ears, he could not feel anything but his heart pounding as if it had stretched under every inch of his skin. He could not smell anything but the sterility of the hospital, and he could not taste anything but the bile that had risen in the back of his throat.

            Shion was truly blind, and he did not even have Nezumi’s hand to guide him.

            All he had was a stupid stick, and it had never before seemed so useless.

            “This is his room, Shion,” Anne said gently, her hand on his arm stopping him. “Come, the doctor says we can go in.”

            Shion let Anne pull him forward. He forced himself to concentrate. He knew nothing of Nezumi’s condition – he could be fine, he could be awake and laughing and expecting Shion to be fine too, and Shion needed to be whatever Nezumi needed after all the times Nezumi had been just what Shion had needed.

            Shion forced himself to hear, and the first thing he heard was not a laugh, but a monitor, too fast and weak for Shion’s taste, and he regretted letting himself hear after all.

            “Oh, _darling_.”

            Shion had never been glad to be blind before that moment when he heard Anne’s voice trembling at whatever she was seeing. He walked carefully to the bedside, trailing his hand out along the bed until it bumped into cold fingers.

            Not Nezumi’s fingers. Nezumi’s fingers were warm.

            “Nezumi?”

            “He’s asleep, darling.”

            “Is it bad?” Shion asked, but there was no reason to because he could always read voices, and he knew what Anne’s voice was saying, and it was saying it was bad, it was very bad.

            “No, no, he’s fine, he’s fine,” Anne said, but her voice cracked on the second fine in a way that suggested he was anything but.

            Shion reached out because as much as he didn’t want to see him, he needed to know, but Anne’s hand on his forearm pulled him back.

            “You shouldn’t touch it just yet, you see,” she murmured.

            _It._ Shion wondered what that could refer to. A small cut, a huge gash, a scar that split his face in half… The options were endless, and Shion had too much time to imagine them all.

            “Tell me the damage. Anne, you have to tell me everything. Now, please.” Shion reached out, felt around carefully and caught Nezumi’s cold fingers again. He held them the way one would hold glass.

            He listened to the monitor staining Anne’s pause with Nezumi’s heartbeat. When she finally began to speak, Shion pressed his forehead into Nezumi’s palm, certain he could see everything she described even though he had never seen anything in his life.

*

_One hairline fracture on skull, right hemisphere, stitches required._

_One concussion._

_Broken nose, split lip._

_One fractured cheekbone, right side, stitches required._

_One broken wrist, right side._

_Three broken ribs, right side._

_Three fractured ribs, right side._

_Two fractured ribs, left side._

_One sprained ankle, right side._

_Permanent brain damage: undetermined._

_Temporary brain damage: undetermined._

_Stability: moderate._

_Complete rehabilitation period: undetermined._

*

Nezumi woke the next morning, before the sun even dared to rise.

            Shion could feel the flutter of his cold fingertips against his palm a few seconds before he heard the slight gasp taken behind the oxygen mask Anne had told him they’d put around Nezumi’s face.

            Anne had gone home with promises to return in the morning with Karan, who had arrived a few hours earlier and taken Anne back with her when it turned dark.

            Shion refused to accompany them back.

            There was a muted garble from behind the oxygen mask, and Shion reached out tentatively for the bedside table, where he knew there was a cup of water. He picked it up with his free hand, then let go of Nezumi’s fingers and reached out, feeling for the oxygen mask, which he gently lowered.

            “Hi.”

            “Hey.” Nezumi’s voice was scratchy, nothing to the low smoothness it usually was.

            It sounded broken, as broken as Shion knew Nezumi must have looked.

            “Have water,” Shion said, offering the cup. It was taken, and Shion listened to Nezumi’s quiet swallows. “How do you feel?” Shion asked, after Nezumi handed him back the cup, now empty.

            “Have you looked at me yet?”

            Shion wrapped his hands back around Nezumi’s fingers. “No.”

            “Scared of what you’ll see?” Nezumi asked, and the edge to his voice was artificial.

            Shion shook his head, played with Nezumi’s cool fingertips. He wasn’t scared of what he’d see.

            He was scared of what he wouldn’t see.

            Shion saw people from their voices, and the people whom he was closest to, from how they felt. Nezumi already sounded different.

            What if Shion felt his face and could not recognize him?

            Nezumi pulled his hand from Shion’s, and Shion felt the fingers a moment later tracing the scar on his cheek. “Now we’ll both have scars.”

            Shion nodded against Nezumi’s palm.

            “Don’t be an idiot. I’m alive.”

            Shion knew this. He could feel the man’s fingers on his cheek and hear his voice a foot away, but all he could think of was the fear he’d felt wondering if Nezumi was going to be okay.

            It had felt darker than any darkness Shion knew, and darkness was something Shion knew well, but something he had never feared.

            Not until now.

*

Two weeks later found Shion catching Nezumi around the waist as he stumbled.

            “Ow, shit.”

            “Sorry,” Shion apologized, carefully retracting his arms and hoping he hadn’t put too much pressure on Nezumi’s bandaged ribs. “You should just use your crutches.”

            “I don’t need them.”

            “That’s like me saying I don’t need my walking stick.”

            “I’m not fucking disabled,” Nezumi snapped.

            Shion stiffened, stepped back. “Neither am I,” he said slowly, turning back towards Nezumi’s bookshelf, which had acquired a small collection of books in braille over the previous few months. He ran his fingers over their spines but made no move to choose one.

            “Shion. I know that.”

            “Yeah,” Shion said quietly.

            “Shion.”

            “I should go.”

            “Hey, listen.” Nezumi’s hand wrapped around Shion’s arm as he turned, but Shion kept his face to the floor. If wasn’t fair for Nezumi to get to see his expression if Shion couldn’t see his, after all.

            Shion had only felt his face once, since the accident. He did not recognize it, but didn’t tell this to Nezumi. Instead, he assured him that it was as familiar as it always had been.

            He didn’t think Nezumi believed him, though Nezumi said he did. Both of them lied to comfort the other, though in both cases, it had the opposite effect, probably because before that moment, they had always told the truth.

            The ridges of Nezumi’s scar, crossing over the right side of his face, were rough against Shion’s fingertips, nothing like the smoothness of silence Shion had known from Nezumi’s skin. The right side of his head had to be shaved for the stitches over his skull, and the bristles of hair were prickly, nothing like honey. His eyelids drooped under the weight of his painkillers, and Shion knew they no longer had the sharpness they once did.

            It was not the beautiful Shion knew, but a new kind of beautiful, one with lips that did not turn up under his fingertips and a breath much shallower than it had been.

            Shion knew Nezumi’s recovery would be long and difficult. He was prepared for it, and put up with Nezumi’s crankiness caused by the pain and his sleeplessness that kept Shion awake as well. He had taken to staying at Nezumi’s apartment in case he needed anything in the middle of the night, sleeping on the couch so that he wouldn’t hit the man’s injuries in his sleep. He’d realized that Nezumi had nightmares, and was often woken by his shouts, whether from his nightmares or the pain Shion couldn’t tell.

            Shion did not mind the lack of sleep. It was the new side of Nezumi brought about by a combination of his own lack of sleep and pain, however, that Shion wasn’t quite sure how to react to.

            _You’re lucky you’re blind,_ Nezumi had said, one night when his shouts woke them both, though Shion made no movement from the couch to show he had been woken as well. _There are things that you’re lucky you don’t have to ever see._

            This wasn’t the Nezumi Shion knew. This wasn’t the tough Nezumi, the one who didn’t believe in luck, who had faced hardship, but had overcome it as well. This wasn’t the Nezumi who didn’t treat Shion as if he was something different, as if he was anything less than whole.

            Shion hadn’t said anything. When he finally fell asleep, he’d dreamed of the words and the harshness of Nezumi’s voice, nothing like the quiet inhale of sound Shion had known from the first time he’d heard the new tenant speak. He’d felt a strange tightening in his chest, but he’d been able to ignore it, knowing this wasn’t his Nezumi, this wasn’t his beautiful Nezumi, this was a man in pain who would get better, if Shion waited.

            Now, however, Shion did not just feel a tightening in his chest. He felt nauseous, sick, wounded.

            _I’m not fucking disabled._

            I’m _not fucking disabled._

            “Shion.”

            “Let me go, please.”

            “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I wasn’t calling you disabled, and you know it.”

            “Let me go, Nezumi.”

            “No.”

            “Why is it,” Shion said quietly, “that it’s okay for me to rely on you, but not for you to rely on me?”

             “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “You’ve been bitter since we got back. You hate that you need help. That you need crutches and pain meds and even me.”

            “Who said I needed you?” Nezumi retorted, an edge to his voice.

            “If you don’t, then let go of me.”

            Nezumi let go.

            Shion left.

*

The next morning, Shion listened to the silence of his room for an hour on waking before getting out of bed. He had gotten accustomed to the sound of Nezumi’s breath, and felt strange without it near him.

            A hit of his clock told him it was a bit earlier than ten, so Shion attempted to occupy himself with homework and lesson plans until noon, when Nezumi usually woke. Time dragged on slowly, especially because it was hard to concentrate on anything but the man across the hall.

            The clock announced noon, and Shion counted his steps to Nezumi’s door. He knocked softly, then louder when he was met with no reply.

            “Nezumi,” Shion called, after two minutes had passed. “Nezumi, come on.” He kept knocking, harder and harder, refusing to stop because to Shion, silence was like darkness, and ever since the call from the hospital, Shion had been scared of the silence, had been unable to sleep without the sound of Nezumi’s breathing, whether it was fast in a nightmare or nearly ghostly silent in a rare moment of calm.

            “Nezumi, Nezumi, _Nezumi, Nezu –_ ”

            “Darling, Shion, stop now, come, he’s not in there, you see.”

            Shion hardly felt the flutter of Anne’s hands pulling back his arms, but he stopped pounding Nezumi’s door and turned to face the old woman.

            “Is he at your place?”

            “I’m sorry, darling. He’s not here at all, he moved out, you see. Told me this morning, but I thought you knew, or I would have come and gotten you, you know that.”

            “Moved out?” Shion asked. He leaned back against Nezumi’s door, his knees weak.

            “I was certain you knew, how could you not know?”

            “Did he tell you why? Anne, what did he say? What time did he tell you this? Tell me everything, exactly.”

            “It was early this morning. Very early, four in the morning, I think. I haven’t been sleeping well, you see, wasn’t hard to hear that young man’s soft knocking. I don’t think he thought I’d be awake, but when I opened the door he said he just wanted to check. Said he had to leave, but he’d call every once in a while and check up on me. I thought he was joking, you know how he makes his jokes, but he had his bag over his shoulder. I asked if he was taking you, of course he’d be taking you, I thought, but he smiled his little smile, you know the one, he makes it at you all the time, I’ll say, and said for me to take care of you.”

            Shion was breathing in gasps, and pressed his palm to his lips so that the sounds of his gasps wouldn’t drown out Anne’s voice. Where her voice used to ring loudly with its roughness, it was now softer, sandpaper rubbed down almost to nothing.

            “I wasn’t thinking – It was four in the morning, you see, and I wasn’t thinking right – Well, truth is, darling, I haven’t been thinking right for a little while now. But I should have known, when he said to take care of you, now that’s just not right, not when he’s the one who’s meant to be taking care of – ”

            “Anne,” Shion murmured, tempted to press his hands against his ears but instead just pressing his palms into his eyes. “That’s okay, Anne, it’s okay.”

            “I should have gotten you – ”

            “It’s fine. Just – Did he say when he was coming back?”

            There was that silence again, thick and heavy, broken only by words that were, somehow, even worse.

            “I’m sorry, darling.”

            Shion shook his head. He reached his hand out along the door behind him, felt for the doorknob, wrapped his fingers around it and twisted as if suddenly it would unlock, just for him, and Nezumi would be standing there, waiting, just for him, and Shion would reach out and feel that smirk, that beautiful smirk, and under his fingertips, Nezumi’s lips would move in the laugh Shion knew the feel of so well:

            _Of course I didn’t leave, idiot. Are you sure you should be teaching college kids when you’re airheaded enough to believe shit like that?_

            But the doorknob didn’t turn, and Nezumi wasn’t on the other side, and all Shion felt was the cool rust of the doorknob underneath his fingertips.

*

A day passed, and Shion still expected Nezumi to come back.

            A week passed, and Shion always knocked on Nezumi’s door on his way to or from his apartment, and even a few times in between, at three in the morning when he couldn’t sleep or ten at night when they usually had tea together and discussed Nezumi’s shows and Shion’s days at school.

            A month passed, and Shion stopped walking down the street feeling as though something was missing. He had his walking stick. There was no hand in his, but he’d never needed that hand anyway, he’d been completely fine without it, completely whole, it had only ever slowed him down, if anything had him running into people without remorse. His walking stick was dependable. Never led him into trashcans. Never left him.

            It was cold, maybe, but warmth was not a necessity.

            Three months passed, and a new tenant moved into Nezumi’s old place. A woman this time, young, like Shion, and alone, like Shion.

            Anne introduced them, invited them both over to get to know each other better, but Shion declined. He had too much work to do, he was too busy, another time, he promised.

            Five months passed, and Shion was back to his old routine, as if a new one had never been formed in the first place.

*

“Shion, darling, do come over. An old woman gets lonely, you see.”

            Shion had only answered the door on accident, as he had been on his way out anyway, to the library to cram for exams. He was about to explain this to the neighbor hovering in his doorway before the sound of her voice sunk in.

            It was much too light, much too delicate to belong to his next-door neighbor, the steadfast woman whose voice had always been stronger even than her heartbeat – until now.

            Maybe that was why Shion agreed to one cup of tea. Or maybe he was just lonely too.

            “…over a few times. She’s really quite lovely, you see, and you ought to give her a chance.”

            “Sorry, what was that?” Shion asked, shaking his head and lowering his cup of tea. He had only just realized that Anne was speaking to him, and blamed the new frailty of her voice for being so easy to tune out.

            “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

            Shion cupped his palm over his mug and felt the steam press against his skin. It wasn’t quite as warm as he’d hoped.

            “There’s many things I didn’t understand about that young man, he was quite mysterious, wasn’t he? But you see, the thing I most wonder when I can’t sleep – and oh, it’s often that I can’t sleep these nights, I imagine you’re the same way with those horrible bags under your eyes, you really must try to hide those. And you don’t even have old age to blame, now do you? Ah, yes, but heartache, as I understand, is worse than aging, and I quite pity you, darling, I really do. But as I was saying, what I wonder is _why,_ you see. Why did he leave you, Shion?”

            Shion tightened his fingers around the edges of his mug. He shook his head. He couldn’t answer this.

            “I know things, Shion, darling. I see things, and that man loved you – ”

            “Anne, please don’t. He’s gone. That’s it.”

            “Will he come back?”

            Shion wished there was a way to close his ears, the way he could close his eyes. He wished he could close his fingertips as well, so he wouldn’t have to feel, wouldn’t have to hear, so that he wouldn’t have to see, just like those with sight could decide when they would rather have darkness than everything else, when everything else was so much worse.

            It wasn’t hard, for Shion to figure out why Nezumi had left. He had always been independent. He had always needed freedom.

            But after his accident, while he recovered, he couldn’t be independent. He needed the painkillers, the doctors, the medicine, the bandages, the stitches, the casts and the crutches. To need Shion, on top of all of that, was not okay. To have to count on somebody else, to rely on him, the way Shion relied on his walking stick, the way Nezumi had been teaching Shion to rely on him – Nezumi was not ready for that. He had probably realized that even after he recovered physically, reliance was not something that would disappear, but would become permanent.

            It was easy, to be independent. It was hard, to trust.

            It was absolutely frightening, to need anything or anyone other than oneself. Because if that thing was ever lost, or taken, or left – that was what it meant, to be truly vulnerable.

            Shion did not blame Nezumi for wishing to keep his independence. Where Shion had learned the necessity of trust from birth, Nezumi had been taught the necessity of autonomy. It had been easy for Shion to trust Nezumi, to rely on him, when they’d gotten close.

            To lose him was like becoming blind but this time having known what it was like, for a few months, to have sight. It hurt, but more than that, it left Shion with a sort of emptiness that he wasn’t sure how to fill, that he wasn’t sure if he _could_ fill.

            Shion did not want Nezumi to have to feel how he did. It was better, that he had left before he risked ever having to feel like this.

            Shion did not blame Nezumi. He hated him, he loved him, he needed him, he missed him, but he did not blame him.

            “I don’t think so, Anne,” Shion whispered, admitting what he had been denying for half a year. He cried without sound, so as not to disturb the darkness of the quiet kitchen.

*

Anne died three days later.

            Shion was at her door, knocking, planning to ask her for her weekly order from his mother’s bakery. When she did not answer after five minutes, he let himself in.

            She never did lock her door.

            Shion found her in bed. She had died in her sleep, or so he might have thought, but her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, as Shion realized when he reached out to touch the soft skin of her face for the last time. He gently closed her eyelids, sat beside her, and took her hand.

            He pretended, for a good part of ten minutes, that she wasn’t dead. He talked to her, apologized for not coming around as much since Nezumi had left, told her about his classes, about how he now taught once a week as a TA, about how his exams had gone well and he only had two left, and he thought he was prepared. He told her about the new item on Karan’s menu, how it was just as delicious as everything else she’d made – though no match for her cherry cake – how he’d been about to propose that she order it that week, to try for herself.

            When he was finished talking, Shion used Anne’s phone to call the police. They came for the body in thirteen minutes. On the way out, Shion locked her door behind him. He passed Patrick’s door and considered knocking to give him the news, but he wasn’t sure if he could even say the words aloud, and decided against it.

            The day had been coming, and Shion knew this. Anne had lived a long life, and a good one, from what Shion knew.

            He supposed he was sadder for himself than he was for her. But then, it had always been Anne who had shuddered at the thought of a lonely young man.

            Shion hated that he was disappointing her even in her death.

*

The wind played games in the cemetery on the day of Anne’s funeral.

            Patrick was there. Shion did not recognize him, as he had never actually seen the man. But the crowd was small, and he’d introduced himself to Shion quietly, as if by accident.

            “I’m Patrick,” he’d said, a slip of the tongue. His voice was barely there.

            Shion held out a hand. “Hi. I’m Shion.” No hand had taken his, and after a minute, Shion dropped his arm back to his side. He wondered if he’d only imagined his neighbor’s presence.

            The funeral was short. Shion stayed in front of the tombstone after everyone else left, assuring his mother to go on without him as well. He had been surprised that Anne’s family did not come. He knew she had three daughters.

            She never spoke of them much, and it only then occurred to Shion how strange that was, for a woman who spoke so often. As it turned out, he did not know the woman as well as he’d thought.

            Shion stepped forward until his reaching fingers touched stone. He traced the engraved letters on the smooth rock. They did not suit her. She had always been rough on the edges, and this stone was much too smooth. He only hoped that whatever was engraved described her better.

            The footsteps were soft, and Shion barely noticed them. They tangled with the sound of the wind and Shion’s own breaths and the faint rustle of his fingertips on too-smooth stone.

            Shion let his hand fall back against his side, but it was caught in fingers Shion jerked away from, instinctively.

            “Wha – ”

            The fingers wrapped around his, and Shion knew this hand, knew the long fingers and the big palm and the warmth of the skin and the way it fit perfectly around his. He sucked in a breath and turned, tightened his fingers around the hand because this time, he wouldn’t let go.

            “I need you.”

            Three words. The voice always came in three words, from _Yes, thank you_ to _Goddammit, fucking lock_ to _Shion, Shion, Shion_ the first time Shion had stayed over the night to _I know, idiot_ the first time Shion had said his own three words to _You are beautiful_ whispered into his hair when Nezumi thought he was asleep.

            Now it was back, now _he_ was back, with three more words that drew Shion forward.

            “Nezumi…” Shion murmured into Nezumi’s chest, as the man pulled Shion to him. Shion untangled his hand from Nezumi’s and reached up, touched the man’s face and of course he recognized it, from the lips to the scar to the eyelashes. There was just one difference, a faint streak of wetness that Shion wiped with the pad of his thumb.

            “How do I look?” Nezumi asked quietly, his lips barely moving under Shion’s fingers.

            “Complete,” Shion replied, but what he meant was beautiful, though he wasn’t sure there was a difference, in the end.

 

THE END


End file.
